Pieces of Colored Glass
by Evangeline Henri
Summary: Remus Lupin and the questions that haunt him. Remus/Sirius slash. Takes place at the beginning of PoA


"Pieces of Colored Glass" (1/1)  
  
By: Evangeline Henri  
  
Rating: PG-13  
Summary: Remus Lupin and the questions that haunt him.   
Remus/Sirius slash. Takes place at the beginning of "Prisoner   
of Azkaban".   
Archives: Go ahead, but tell me!  
Dedication: Mr. Gold gets a lot of the credit for this, as he   
IS Remus Lupin. And Alanis Morissette, who is NOT Remus Lupin,   
but cool anyway. Of course, the majority of this was, is, and   
forever will be for Atalanta de Lioncourt.  
*****  
  
Why in God's name did you have to come back now, Sirius? This is   
perhaps the worst possible time for you to return. For the first   
time in thirteen years, I think I may just be able to get through   
the day without wanting to curl up in a ball and die. For the first   
time in thirteen years, I'm almost fine again.   
  
Not happy, of course, but fine. I haven't been happy since you   
left. I've come to accept the fact that I never will be again.   
Fine is enough for me right now.  
  
Dumbledore finally convinced me to go back to Hogwarts. I've been   
avoiding that place, avoiding the memories it's saturated in. I   
already spend too much of my time battling those memories. If I was   
there, they'd be infinitely worse. I was afraid I'd go insane. But   
then he came, and told me that Lily and James' boy, the great Harry   
Potter, was entering his third year, and that he'd need all the   
friends he could get. So, for him, I went back.  
  
Do you remember our third year of school? That was the year in which   
everything changed. Before that, we had all been inseparable- the   
four Marauders, carving out a legacy for ourselves. Those early days   
are still a blur to me, like so many legends. What did we know back   
then, besides what was fun and daring and sure to infuriate Snape?   
  
But our third year was when everything got hard. That was when all   
those blasted hormones found their ways into our bodies, turning   
everything upside down. We all began to fall in love for the first   
time. It was during our third year at Hogwarts that James and Lily's   
romance started. And ours.  
  
I remember sitting up late one night, after waking up from my first   
wet dream. The sheets were sticky with semen, and my pants were   
drenched with it. Intellectually, I knew that there was nothing   
terrible about this. Tomorrow, the house elves that changed our   
bedding would deal with it, and that no one else would ever know.   
Yet I couldn't stop myself from crying; I can still taste my hot,   
shameful tears. Because I knew who I had been dreaming about, and it   
wasn't who it should have been. It was you.  
  
That event couldn't have been more than a month before the night when   
we kissed for the first time. It happened during Christmas break,   
when we were the only two people in our dormitory that stayed in   
school. Everyone else was home, celebrating the holidays with their   
families. Everyone but the two of us. But we weren't upset; we had   
each other.  
  
It was bitter cold in the castle that night. A howling wind had come   
tearing through, blowing out the fire, and while we both knew the   
incantation to light it again, neither of us did it. Instead, you   
came up to my bed, and pulled back the curtain.  
  
"Remus?" you whispered softly, and tapped me to see if I was up.  
  
"Yes?" I replied, ready to strike down any scheme of yours for   
nocturnal mischief.  
  
"Do you mind if I come tuck in with you to keep warm?"   
  
I was afraid to reply, afraid that my tone would give away my   
overwhelming joy. This was the Christmas present so wonderful that I   
had never even considered receiving it. I managed to nod.  
  
You hoisted yourself up into bed with me, and burrowed underneath the   
great down blankets. "Thanks," you whispered, and I wanted to   
respond, but my heart was pounding so hard I thought it would burst.  
  
At first, we kept to our sides of the bed. I was scared stiff of   
making a move, and I think you were too. After a little while,   
though, you wrapped your arms around me, pulling me close to you.   
I would have thought you would have been more cautious about it, but   
then again you've never been cautious about anything.   
  
I almost fainted, you know. You rested your head on my shoulder, and   
your shimmering black hair tickled my chin. I remember marveling at   
how perfectly we fit, at how the contours of our body seemed made for   
one another. Your hands on my chest and your legs twined through   
mine. However innocent you had meant this to be, it was not turning   
out that way at all; I had never felt more attracted to anyone in my   
entire life.  
  
There, in the dark, with us nestled up against one another like spoons   
in a silverware drawer, we kissed. It was my first one, you know.   
I don't know what I had been expecting, but you exceeded my wildest   
expectations. You have a habit of doing that.  
  
After that, there were many nights when you'd crawl into bed with me,   
nights in which we didn't just cuddle. Nights that still make my   
skin tingle and my body burn. Yet, out of all those, I think that   
first one is the one that still plagues me the most.  
  
Dumbledore should have come to you, Sirius, not me. You should be   
the one he asked to guide Harry through his difficult teen years.   
Harry should be coming to you with his problems and his insecurities.   
Lily and James would have wanted it that way. After all, you're his   
godfather. I sometimes wonder why you aren't Hogwarts' latest   
Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher whose double mission is to   
protect The Boy Who Lived.  
  
And then I'm reminded of the answer, and it's so simple and ironic   
that I'm forced to laugh acrimoniously at Fate's dry wit. You're who   
I'm supposed to be protecting Harry from! You're the reason why he   
needs to be guided by someone else, and not his parents. You killed   
them by betraying their trust, and now you're after Harry to finish   
the job. Do you get it? Some bloody good joke.  
  
What on earth could have motivated you to do that? Even after all   
this time, I haven't come up with the answer to that most basic of   
questions. If I allow myself to think about it for too long, it   
wraps its sinister tentacles around everything I've ever believed in   
and drags it all down into the murkiest of depths. So I push it   
aside, and let it occupy its corner of my mind. I've learned to live   
around it, like an unwanted houseguest that has no intention of ever   
leaving.  
  
You were always the mysterious one, with your darkness that always   
seemed about to devour you whole. That's what drew me to you, your   
pain. It pulled me in, seduced me. There was a time when I thought   
I understood what made you that way, what gave you that second shadow   
that followed at your heels. But it turned out that I could not have   
been more wrong about it.  
  
It would all be so much easier if I could just hate you. I should   
hate you. And sometimes, when I repeat your crimes to myself, I   
begin to convince myself that I do. Traitor, murderer. I hate those   
words, certainly.   
  
But hate you? Sirius Black, the cocky boy with the infectious   
laughter and penchant for mischief? The one person who could help me   
with the demons that lived within me because he had them in himself?   
I loved that Sirius Black. I think I still do.  
  
When you left, I was shattered into a thousand pieces of colored   
glass. Yellows and greens and violets, the first few years were   
spent merely trying to pick them all up. They sliced my hands,   
cutting them to ribbons. I used to watch myself bleed, examining each   
ruby droplet as it traveled along the lines of my palm and onto my   
wrists. They'd make red trails, and I'd amuse myself by thinking   
that these were the wounds your fingernails had inflicted on me last   
night.   
  
I still have the scars from those days.   
  
And while those slivers that make up who I am will never mend in the   
same way as they were, they've finally settled in such a way as to   
make life bearable again. I'm not whole anymore, but at least I'm   
still here.   
  
And now the papers say you're here as well. Why, Sirius? Couldn't   
you have just stayed where you were, a dream from a better time? Why   
did you have to float up again, after all this time lurking just   
below the surface of my thoughts? Why won't you just let me mourn the   
sweet boy you had once been? Because that part of you died, just   
like all my other childhood friends did.   
  
Goddamnit, Sirius, why do you still do this to me?  
  
-The End-  



End file.
